


Nightlight

by lamellae



Category: Dance Gavin Dance (Band)
Genre: AU, Explicit Language, M/M, RPF, Trans Male Character, in which I describe an anxiety attack from the first person perspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:08:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23344882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamellae/pseuds/lamellae
Summary: It is very likely against my best interests to post such a crass, self-indulgent work. But it's been a while and this is the only real thing I have to show at the moment, so take it or leave it. One-shot. *Read. The. Tags.*
Relationships: Jon Mess/Tilian Pearson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	Nightlight

It was clear by the moment Tilian arrived that Jon had spent a healthy amount of time before then pre-gaming. The man had a propensity for losing himself in the liquor early on in the evenings they hung out. Though he was mostly lucid upon opening the door, greeting his friend with a wide smile and a bro-hug, and letting him in.

Jon had already pulled up a game on his PS4, its Start screen playing some repetitive, catchy jingle as Tilian brought himself in and threw his jacket over a chair in the kitchen—it was a new, high-definition remake of a game they both played when they were kids. The game had become a new favorite of theirs, since it was a whole couch co-op deal, which was getting rarer as time went on. It made both of them feel kind of old.

Though being in the same band for a few years, the pair hadn’t really seen themselves as friends until quite recently. The amount of gaming they did on Jon’s Switch the previous tour gave them something in common, and of course, as adults, they brought drinking in to spice it up further. Though usually they both ended up getting tired early on and passing out on Jon’s floors most nights.

Jon shuffled into the kitchen, Tilian following with familiarity.

“How’s it been, man?” Tilian started, grabbing glasses from the dish rack next to the sink. He glanced over at Jon, standing silently on the other side of the kitchen, who’d become distracted from his alcy quest by a stain of likely either toothpaste or white paint on the front of his black tee.

“Wh—oh, yeah, fine. You?”

“Good, good,” Tilian murmured in response. Just the usual. He was over about once a week at this point, so it was surprising if anything unusual occurred in that time.

Jon nodded, padding over to Tilian with an armful of sweating beers and a myriad of superficially unidentifiable bottles. Tilian helped move the beers to the counter. He laughed and pointed out that the condensation from the drinks made Jon look like he just ran a marathon. The latter man rolled his eyes, laughing, and mumbled something about always being sweaty, anyway. Tilian nodded shortly in agreement.

Jon handed Tilian a mostly-full bottle of vodka—some cheapish brand, nothing impressive, but it was vodka. Tilian stepped over to the fridge, pulling out a carton each of orange juice and cranberry juice. He poured them both a mostly-vodka-kinda-juice glass, handing one over to Jon. Jon grinned, downing it quickly, before grabbing a fresh beer and walking back over to his living room. Tilian followed, sipping at the mix, vodka bottle cradled under his arm.

Jon stood in front of the television, controller in his hands, beer tucked under his arm. He handed Tilian a controller, sitting down on the other side of the couch.

After a few games, and some drinks in, Tilian excused himself to the bathroom. Upon returning, wobbling as he did, he saw Jon coming back from the kitchen again, with a new beer in hand. Jon mumbled a ‘welcome back’, and Tilian grabbed the half-empty bottle of vodka on his path back to the couch.

Tilian sat down sloppily, letting out a small yelp before readjusting into apparent comfortability. He gave a quiet laugh, giving Jon a knowing look. And Jon, not knowing what in particular Tilian was referring to, shot a look of confusion back. Tilian’s smile wobbled for a second before he realized Jon really was lost, suddenly.

“Oh, you know,” he muttered, smirking, “don’t you hate it when you sit down and—” he spread his legs apart on the couch in an act of exaggeration, staring up at Jon, who held his dripping beer quietly in both hands. “You accidentally sit on your balls for a second, and—”

And Jon, while not knowing why he suddenly had the urge to do so, laughed out loud, probably too loudly. He had gotten used to playing along when guys made jokes like that, which was quite often, but now he quite pointedly did not want to play along. Tilian closed his mouth in confusion, looking up at Jon expectantly. Perhaps fueled by the drinks, and how much closer friends they’d become recently, Jon found himself wanting to tell Tilian something he told himself for years that the other man had no right knowing. Tilian stuttered, momentarily, taken aback by Jon’s bizarre outburst.

“No, I,” Jon started, giggling to himself, “I don’t know.”

Tilian nodded slowly, mouth held open in a smile, not knowing if he was just not getting one of Jon’s weird jokes again, or if he was being messed with, or if Jon just miraculously happened to never have awkward scrote-positioning unlike every other man Tilian suddenly realized he should probably not be taking so much about balls with. Was it weird to talk about nuts so much? Was that a normal guy thing? Did he bring up balls too much in conversation? Oh my god, what if he was _that_ guy, and—

Jon watched as Tilian very clearly lost himself in a silent train of thought. Jon put his drink down on the coffee table and cleared his throat, laughing again. He waved his hands in front of Tilian to catch the other man’s attention once more, and met his gaze.

“I’m being serious, bro,” Jon continued, swaying a bit, catching more giggles in his throat. “I don’t, I—”

“What, haha,” Tilian stammered, trying to catch on to the joke. He really hated being made to look like an idiot, and Jon was particularly good at doing that. “Don’t you have nuts?” Tilian then realized that the scrotal conversation they were having was going on way too long.

Jon grinned, shaking his head. “Nope, and—”

Tilian smiled back, nodding, hoping he was really truly getting the joke and that Jon wasn’t going to make fun of him for something he wasn’t aware of yet.

Jon’s smile fell at Tilian’s response. “No. Really man. I’m serious.”

Tilian beamed wider. “Okay, so no balls—did you lose them in an accident? Or—”

Jon realized Tilian was being a moron.

“I never had any, man.”

Tilian wasn’t sure if he should keep smiling, but he did. He also kept talking, though he wasn’t sure of that either.

“So is it just, like, the shaft, or—”

Jon couldn’t help but laugh at their stupid conversation.

“No, just, okay, shut up,” Jon muttered, rolling his eyes, his smile returning. Tilian tried his best to stop smiling. He was still very certain he was being pranked. Jon continued. “Wanna see?”

Tilian was suddenly very sure Jon was no longer joking. His mouth felt very dry.

“Sure?”

Jon nodded, letting out a breath before undoing the top button of his jeans. He pulled up the bottom of his shirt, giving Tilian a glimpse of his pale middle, before hooking his fingers under the waistband of his boxer shorts and pulling them and his jeans down to mid-thigh. His legs, Tilian noted, were the same color as his arms.

He ogled for probably a little too long before Jon pulled his pants back up.

“See? Au naturel, baby,” Jon mumbled, smirking.

Tilian nodded, wide-eyed, still in shock. “So you—”

“Yes, I’ve had a pussy this _whole_ time,” Jon chuckled.

“I never even thought—”

“Well, obviously.”

“Hey!” Tilian grumbled.

Jon gave him a wide grin. Tilian continued.

“But how—”

“Hormones.”

“But you don’t look—”

“Been on them for like, fucking, what, fifteen years? Yeah, nobody can tell. My doctors forget a lot, too. And they know a _lot_ of weird shit about me.”

“But what about—”

“Will and Matt know, duh. Tim doesn’t, though he doesn’t know much about me, anyway. Andrew knows, but only because he asked really nicely one time. It’s a case-by-case basis outside of the band, of course.”

“Why didn’t you—”

“Because you’re kind of an ass, Til. Just sayin’,” Jon replied smoothly, looking at Tilian with a smug grin. Tilian nodded, agreeing that he probably didn’t seem like the kind of person to reveal that to, anyway, since he visibly tried to avoid the topic at any given chance.

Tilian frowned. He felt his stomach doing flips. It’s not as if he didn’t _not_ have a preconceived notion of what a trans person looked like, but suddenly he realized he might know, or at least has seen a lot of trans people without him even realizing. And he has been in a band for years, and made friends with one. And he didn’t even know. And now he felt kinda weird about it. His vision was getting a little blurry, and he realizing he’d been nursing his bottle of vodka the whole time, and it was feeling very empty in his hand.

Jon could see the math flying past Tilian’s eyes.

“Congrats, dude,” Jon bent over, patting the now-non-responsive Tilian on the back. “Now you know!” He grasped loosely at his beer and chugged the rest of it. His face returned to his usual flat affect. Tilian blinked.

Jon sat back down on the couch next to Tilian, closer than before, picking up the controller. He handed Tilian his own controller, and cracked open another beer.

“More CTR?”

Tilian nodded, again, silently. He still felt kind of weird.

* * *

Try as he might, the spins were preventing Tilian from getting anywhere close to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt like he was being whipped around on a rollercoaster. So he stared at the living room ceiling, having spread himself out on the couch, and his mind wandered back to Jon showing him his junk earlier.

_Okay_, he thought. _Doesn’t have to be weird. Or change anything. I just know something weird about Jon now. And he’s already pretty weird. So this is fine. It’s fine._

Tilian rolled onto his side, pulling the spare blanket over his shoulder and tucking in deeper. It was difficult to really get comfy on this couch, though not for want of trying; he’d slept over at Jon’s after many drunken gaming nights many times before, to the point that he knew the comfiest spots. It was just that his legs were just _slightly_ too long, and he had to tuck them in to fit on it completely. It always left him a little sore, but it was better than the floor. In any case, the change in position quelled his vertigo for a moment. He heard the sound of soft paw-steps some feet away and glanced around the dark living room for Jon’s cat, hoping to distract himself from his thoughts.

Timmy didn’t like Tilian very much, as far as the man could tell. Which was a difficult judgment, because Timmy enjoyed chewing on and scratching up Jon, who he appeared to hate the least (not that Jon minded—he took the attacks with a smile and laughs). Timmy had a propensity for biting at Tilian’s usually-exposed ankles and eating his unsupervised food whenever he visited as well. But he was sweet, and indeed very cute, when he got too tired to scream at you anymore.

“Hey,” Tilian whispered, hoping to catch the cat’s attention. He pulled his hand out from under the blanket and waved it enticingly near the floor. “Hey buddy, want pets?” He clicked his tongue softly.

The paw-steps stopped for a split second, before speeding up and sounding to come closer. Tilian saw the light reflecting off Timmy’s eyes (_what was that thing in their eyes called again? _Jon had told him excitedly once or twice. _Trapezius lumos? Luminacious T? Tapirtum? Whatever_) as he bounded up to his hand, running his soft head under Tilian’s fingers. After a few scritches behind the ears, Timmy slipped out from under Tilian’s hands and out of his sight.

Tilian smiled, grateful to have been able to pet Timmy without any violence. He was excited to tell Jon about it in the morning, for sure. He then turned onto his back, before being overtaken with sudden nausea and disorienting spins. He stumbled off the couch, almost tripping in the comforter before catching himself on the edge of the couch. He wobbled carefully yet hastily towards the bathroom, begging his stomach to at least make it _into_ the bathroom before ruining Jon’s hardwood floors.

He shuffled onto the cold tile, not bothering to turn the light on before just barely puking right into the sink. Tilian sighed, his nausea and dizziness abated. He started the faucet, cupping his hands and taking a few sips as he stared down into the bowl, darkness obscuring what he was certain was a colorful mess, after all the vodka juice mixes they threw around hours prior. He hoped Jon wouldn’t be too grossed out by it in the morning. Or, well, why would he care. The living room was already pretty trashed, anyway, as always.

At least the darkness hid his own drunken reflection, he mused. That was definitely a mess _he_ didn’t want to see. He turned off the faucet, pretending that the running water probably washed away most of it.

Tilian stepped back out to the living room, rubbing his eyes, finally feeling his balance once more. He was looking forward to finally sleeping, now that he was no longer nauseous. He then heard something curious, though he wasn’t sure why it would be raining, when it had been so dry all month anyway—

And there was Timmy, on top of the blanket, squatting, and very much so peeing on it. Tilian made direct eye contact, which for some reason made him quite terrified. Timmy stared back, apparently fully aware of his actions. There was no remorse behind his glare.

“Hey!” Tilian barked, barely getting it out of his mouth as he recovered from his shock. He lunged towards the cat, though apprehensively, preparing himself for evisceration. “Dude, what—"

Timmy leaped off the couch, scurrying away into an unseen nook. Tilian held himself still above the soiled blanket, heart sinking.

He briefly considered just tossing it in a corner and sleeping without it, but Jon would probably want to know to wash it before the cat-piss stank really set in. And it was kind of cold, and Tilian didn’t know if Jon had any extra blankets, and, well. He just wanted to sleep.

After knocking on Jon’s bedroom door, Tilian felt the urge to quickly check if he smelled pukey (he kind-of did… ) and tried looking a little less distraught about cat pee before Jon opened it. The other, very not-awake man smiled somewhat vacantly at Tilian’s sloppy visage before yawning. Jon pulled gently at the sleeves of his dark sweater for some seconds before summing up the energy to speak.

“Whassup, my man.”

“Hey, sorry,” Tilian mumbled, averting his gaze. “Timmy kinda, well… he left a present on the blanket.”

Jon’s eyes opened up just a millimeter wider in apparent surprise, but Tilian couldn’t really tell.

“Oh, shit, dude,” Jon muttered, rubbing at his eyes. “Sorry ‘bout that. Lemme toss it in the washer, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tilian nodded. His eyes, against his will, kept darting to Jon’s groin, which was thankfully not very visible under his dark joggers. He felt like a pervert. At least Jon didn’t seem to notice it at all.

Tilian followed silently after Jon as the latter man walked deliberately down the hallway to the living room, carefully gathering up the blanket, before heading back down to the closet that held his washer and drier. Tilian then realized he could’ve probably waited patiently in the kitchen or something, and felt a pang of anxiety at having likely looked weird following Jon around like a child, though he’s never really felt that way around Jon before. He watched Jon stuff the comforter into the washer, pouring in the detergent, then starting the machine. Jon turned to face Tilian, yawning once again. He put on another semi-empty smile, taking a beat.

Tilian smiled back, picking at his fingers, tilting his head to the side in silent expectancy.

“Oh, right,” Jon mumbled, squinting as if to communicate his understanding. “I uh, don’t have another blanket, or anything. Sorry man.”

Tilian nodded. “That’s fine, that’s fine,” though it really wasn’t, but he didn’t want to look like a diva, and he suddenly was caring very much what Jon thought about him. Jon obviously wasn’t doing much thinking behind his trance-like sleepiness, but Tilian convinced himself he was. Jon nodded, moving zombie-like back to his bedroom door.

“Night, man.”

Tilian nodded after a delay.

“G’night.”

Tilian stood there for another moment as Jon slipped into his room, shutting the door quietly behind himself. The taller man then turned, stepping back into the living room. He picked his jacket up off the chair, laying it upon himself as he rested back down on the couch. He stared back up at the ceiling

_This is fine_.

Tilian closed his eyes, letting out a sigh. _This is fine_. He was thinking about Jon again, and he saw his bandmate’s sleepy smirk in his mind’s eye. _Just because he has a pussy doesn’t mean this has to be weird_. It still kind of smelled like cat pee. _I mean, it hasn’t been weird, before this. We’re just friends. And both dudes. He’s still, like, a guy. And I don’t like guys._ Like Tilian expected, it was cold with just the denim jacket over his chest. He brought sweatpants to sleep in, so at least he had pants on (he usually slept in shorts, or just his underwear at home), but his legs still felt chilly. _So get over it._

He took a deep breath in, and out, cringing at the acrid scent.

_But you’re not getting over it. You’re still thinking about him._

Tilian stood up, tossing his jacket back on the floor. He went to the bathroom, keeping the light off again. He clattered around in the cabinet for some mouthwash, fountaining it and swishing it for a few seconds.

_So you’re really going for anything with a cunt, huh? Real classy, Pearson. It’s Jon. Don’t fuck around with your bandmates._

He shook his head. He was _not_ going to fuck around. Tilian washed his face in the sink, using the water to slick his hair back. He knew he looked shitty, but he wasn’t going to turn the light on to confirm it.

Standing in front of Jon’s bedroom door, Tilian took another deep breath.

_Just don’t make it weird. You just want to sleep. Nothing else._

He knocked softly on Jon’s door, once more. Jon came to the door quicker than before, likely not having gone to sleep again just yet this time. Jon opened the door slowly, and looked up at Tilian expectantly.

“Yeah?”

Tilian swallowed. “Uh,” _great start._ “Sorry.”

Jon kept looking at him blankly.

“What?”

“It’s just—it’s cold, still, and it smells pretty bad,” Tilian mumbled. “Are you sure you don’t have another blanket, or—”

“Hey, hey man,” Jon interrupted, looking away from Tilian for a split second before meeting his eyes again, “I, uh, have a California King. Big enough for both of us, y’know. Or, well, long enough.”

Tilian chuckled, just a little. Jon nodded, continuing.

“It’ll be like on the bus. Just a few feet apart. No big deal, right?”

Jon usually didn’t make a lot of eye contact, but he was being especially antsy now. He let out a nervous laugh.

“No big deal, yeah,” Tilian nodded.

Jon stepped back to let Tilian into his room. Tilian had been in here, before, just to hang out with Jon, but now he was struck with how much it smelled like the other man, and it wasn’t helping him keep his thoughts quiet. He pulled the door closed behind him.

Jon lowered himself back onto his bed, nestling under the covers. He shuffled to the farther end of the bed, turning away, to give Tilian space. Tilian took a beat, before laying himself on the other edge, attempting to make himself as small as he could. He faced away from Jon, staring wide-eyed into the darkness.

They laid there silently, backs to one another, for a few minutes. Jon then sighed, mumbling something Tilian couldn’t quite hear.

“What was that?” Tilian whispered, without turning around.

“I said,” Jon continued, flatly, “it’s cold, like you said, so we can share the blanket.”

Jon then untucked the blanket from behind him, still facing away from Tilian. Tilian shifted a few inches back, delicately pulling the comforter over himself. Jon’s body heat had warmed it significantly, even though Tilian could only get it slightly over his shoulder, but he was averse to getting any closer to the other man.

_Don’t make it fucking weird_.

Tilian mumbled a secular ‘thanks’ and pulled his arms close to his chest. It was nice, and warm, and Jon’s bed _did_ smell really nice, but he wasn’t going to push it, and freak Jon out, and look like a weird pervert, and fuck up their friendship, or anything. _Whatever_.

Jon mumbled a ‘you’re welcome’, becoming quiet again.

It was fine.

This was normal, and fine, and nothing to make note of. Just a normal night, as they’ve always had, between two guy friends. Games, drinks, sleep. Like always.

It was totally fine.

But Tilian was pissed. He was angry at himself, because his heart was beating so fast, and this was weird. He had pushed himself into Jon’s room, into his bed, and invaded his space. He was being a creep, because he also felt incredibly wired, and very much so not sleepy anymore, because he wanted to get even just a little bit closer to Jon. He felt weird, because just knowing Jon didn’t have a cock suddenly made Tilian obsess over him, like a pervert, a freak. He was so, so mad. Because Jon clearly could not sleep, because he was freaked out by Tilian acting so weird, and be probably felt massively uncomfortable, and Tilian could tell, because Jon was breathing much quicker than someone who was fast asleep. Tilian dug his fingernails into his palms, because _he_ was freaking the fuck out, for no reason, all just because he was asserting himself into Jon’s personal space, and god, he really just wanted to touch him. Tilian could feel a cold sweat on his back—and _great_, _wonderful_, he was now being weird _and_ sweaty, fuck.

Tilian’s racing thoughts stopped in their tracks when Jon spoke again, a little louder than before.

“Y’know, you can, uh,” Jon exhaled, “you can have more of the blanket if you get a little closer, bro. It’s pretty cold.”

Tilian was suddenly convinced he was losing his mind.

_Whatever, this is normal, this is fine. He’s just being nice_.

But he obliged, shifting ever minutely closer to Jon, until their backs met, and Tilian flinched at the contact. Jon said nothing, further convincing Tilian of his own burgeoning lunacy. He pulled the blanket more fully over himself, finally covered in his entirety, though he was now met with the new problem of being quite unbearably warm.

Tilian begged and pleaded for his heart to stop beating so goddamn fast. They were _touching_, and by god, it was amazing, and very different from when they had touched at any point before tonight. Before it felt neutral, and not like a big deal at all, and Tilian didn’t feel anything when they shook hands, or brushed past each other on the bus, or anything. But now Tilian felt like cherry bombs were going off in his chest, and he really must seem to be such a freak to Jon, fucking sweating and with his heart beating so loudly. But he didn’t want to move, because Jon, weirdly, wasn’t moving, or saying anything, and he just wanted to keep touching him, even if it was as demure as laying his back against the other man’s.

Tilian was sure he spent several minutes, or hours, or even days laying there, staring wide-eyed at the other pitch-black end of Jon’s bedroom. He had convinced himself he was going crazy, and that Jon was going to tell the rest of the band, later, how creepy Tilian was, and how much Jon hated him, and so on, and so forth, and he was just lying there quietly because he was _afraid_, of Tilian, because Tilian was being very scary, and weird, and—

Jon interrupted his thoughts once again, though without another word, by turning, gently, and feeling for Tilian’s further arm (the latter man going stock-still, in what he could only describe as terror), then grabbing it and pulling, forcing Tilian to follow along and dumbfoundedly turn all the way around to face Jon’s back, and resting back down quietly only after securing Tilian’s arm around his middle, and placing his own hand on it, as if to silently communicate to Tilian that if he removed his arm from around Jon, then he would surely have hell to pay.

And now Tilian was entirely convinced he was dead, or something close to it. He knew they only had beer and vodka (and a lot of cheese puffs) over the night, but he theorized some way for a particularly adventurous tequila worm to find its way into their drinks and wreak havoc upon his barely-conscious mind. In any case, Tilian swallowed, and pulled his other arm around to more securely hold Jon close under the blanket. It was now painfully warm under the comforter, and Jon’s own body heat felt sweltering.

Jon hummed quietly, sighing again. Tilian thought he could hear a smile behind Jon’s voice, but again, he was going crazy, so who knows.

“You know, they say spooning is the most comfortable position to sleep in.”

Tilian swallowed again, but his mouth was really too dry, and it hurt more so than it relieved.

“Is that so?” His voice came out barely above a whisper, belying his nerves. Jon felt so very natural to hold, and being right there, smelled so good, and so strongly, and Tilian was sure he was shaking.

_God, damn it._

“I mean, _I_ don’t know,” Jon replied, brushing his fingers against Tilian’s. “I think I heard that in a movie, or something.”

Tilian pulled him closer, burying his face into Jon’s neck, which was warm, and soft. Jon _also_ felt slick with sweat, and Tilian realized that Jon hadn’t actually been trying hard to keep his distance from Tilian at all the moment he opened his door the first time, earlier that night.

If Tilian was being creepy, then by equal measures, Jon was too. So be it.

Tilian moved his free arm (that is, the one not situated underneath Jon), tracing miniscule paths along Jon’s covered middle with his fingers, pressing into him lightly. Jon kept his hand on Tilian’s, grasping gently at the other’s wrist. Jon held his breath as Tilian then pulled himself ever closer, taking more of Jon into his arms, feeling over the smaller man’s chest, grabbing it as delicately as Tilian could manage in his state. Jon let out a controlled exhale. His neck, and the soft curve of the back of his jaw were all Tilian could see.

“Is it—” Tilian felt himself having to take in a deep breath before continuing, as if the moment had sucked all the air out of his lungs. He grabbed at Jon’s chest again, before pressing into his pliant sides, feeling up near his shoulder, down his arm. “Is kissing okay?”

“Please,” Jon muttered, almost inaudibly.

So Tilian kissed the back of his neck, again so delicately and slowly, and felt his hand travel lower, feeling down the curves of Jon’s covered hips and the sides of his thighs. His other hand pressed into Jon’s middle, keeping him close. Jon moaned softly, and reached his arm around, leafing through Tilian’s sweaty hair.

On his hand’s return back up, Tilian slipped his hand under Jon’s sweater, running his fingers over Jon’s bare chest as the latter man shivered at the touch, breathing short, quick breaths. Jon pulled the blanket off the both of them, causing it to fall to the floor, out of sight. They both breathed in the cool night air, embracing them as it pulled warmth from their sweaty bodies. Tilian laid kisses along the curve of Jon’s shoulder, along his neck, behind his ear, enjoying the prickly sensation of the other man’s stubble. He took more of Jon’s small chest into his hand, running his thumb in circles over his nipple. Jon let out a short whine, before swallowing the noise down, biting his lip, breathing hard.

“Keep going.”

Tilian grunted shortly in response, and used his other (now, somewhat numb after having been under Jon) hand to grip the waistband of Jon’s joggers, and boxers, pulling them down just a few inches. He then, as slowly as he could manage, considering he was very hard, and could barely think, brought his upper hand down, over Jon’s hip, between Jon’s slick thighs, then cupping his pussy, for a moment, just so his hand could warm, before pressing up against him, rubbing Jon’s clit with his thumb. Jon’s breath caught in his throat, one hand gripping at Tilian’s arm, the other covering his mouth. His hips bucked, pressing him against Tilian’s fingers.

“God, you’re so wet,” Tilian mumbled, through shaky breaths against Jon’s neck. He kissed him, harder now, nibbling at the warm skin on the other man’s neck.

“I just _really_ want you inside me, man,” Jon replied weakly, sounding almost as if he could cry with how badly he wanted it. Tilian nodded, running his fingers over Jon’s warmth, wrapping them around Jon’s clit—it really was a handful, to Tilian’s amazement, and more like a small cock, than he’d ever expected, but Tilian was learning a lot of new things tonight, so he just added it to the list. Tilian could feel that Jon was quite hard, and with Tilian stroking him, Jon couldn’t help but thrust into his hand, with little whines, and moans, and _oh, god, Tilian_s spilling out of his mouth.

“Feel good?” Tilian was holding Jon so tightly, he could barely breathe, and Jon likely felt the same, but Tilian wasn’t looking to let go of him anytime soon.

“I’m close,” Jon whined, so softly, shaking in Tilian’s arms. Tilian planted more kisses along Jon’s neck, picking up his pace. “I, god—”

Jon came, catching a cry in his throat. Tilian stroked him, loosening his grip around Jon’s middle just the slightest bit. He could feel his clit pulsing through the orgasm, mimicked by Jon’s own overall shakiness. Tilian pulled himself over Jon, gripping his lower hand in the other man’s curls, bringing him forward to kiss his soft, pink lips. Jon grabbed hard at Tilian’s hair, pulling him down, not wanting to separate from Tilian, kissing him over and over.

“God,” Tilian sighed.

Jon pulled away for a split second, taking in deep breaths. Tilian could barely see the other man, but he felt his warm breath on his lips, and the slightest reflection of dim light from his heavy-lidded eyes. Tilian brought his upper hand out from between Jon’s legs, his fingers slick.

Jon swallowed.

“Y’know,” he started, still trying to catch his breath, “I’m clean, so, if you’re clean, we don’t need a condom.”

Tilian blinked. “That’s okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jon breathed, “hurry up.”

Tilian obliged, shifting to kneel above Jon, pulling his own sweats down from over his hard cock. He controlled his movements carefully, not wanting to seem _so_ eager though he _really_ felt like he could tear Jon apart at any moment. Tilian shuffled closer, grabbing Jon from under his knees, pulling him up on top of Tilian’s thighs. Tilian pulled Jon’s pants all the way off, alongside his boxers, leaving the latter man fully accessible. Jon held his own legs apart (shaking, still) as Tilian hastily positioned himself, grabbing hold of Jon’s hip with one hand before thrusting in gently, making Jon yelp. Tilian was holding his breath, shaking, the sensation and his arousal clouding his judgment; he wanted to just keep going, he wanted to come so badly. Still, he paused, pulling out.

“S-sorry,” Jon muttered, gasping, “I’m not actually that used to being on the bottom.” He let go of his legs, wrapping them around Tilian’s middle. Tilian could feel that Jon was still quite wet, as it was pooling over his own legs, staining his sweats.

Tilian leaned forward, without a word, kissing Jon fully again, brushing the side of the other man’s face with his thumb. Jon breathed, warm and deep, gripping tightly at Tilian’s hair. Still over Jon, Tilian grabbed at his cock again, starting again at Jon’s entrance and pushing in slowly. This time, he kept going through Jon’s soft whines, kissing him as he pushed in. Tilian picked up his pace, letting out a moan, himself—Jon was _so_ tight that it almost hurt, and it was tough for Tilian to hold back from going _all_ the way into Jon, from surely hurting him with the speed Tilian wanted so badly, when the latter man was covering his face with soft sweater-paws and muffling such cute noises.

Tilian wanted to do this over and over and over again; he didn’t want Jon to be out of his sight ever again. He wanted to touch and hold him so badly, and kiss him and make him feel _so_ good, all the fucking time. Tilian could feel himself get faster and faster in his excitement, enamored.

Jon mumbled out a nigh-imperceivable ‘slow down’, squeezing Tilian’s sides almost painfully with his legs, and Tilian complied, with a strong will. Tilian felt Jon relax with his slow, steady rhythm, and he kissed him gently, down his neck and over his collarbone. Jon let out a controlled breath.

“Ready?” Tilian could barely get the word out. Jon nodded.

Tilian again picked up his pace, thrusting more fully into Jon, almost completely, rising to use Jon’s legs as leverage. At this new speed, Tilian could barely hold back for more than a few seconds, and without a warning, came into Jon, who gasped at the new sensation of warmth, inside of him. Tilian’s vision went out for a few seconds, leading to him grabbing his own head as if to steady himself.

“Ugh, god,” Jon mumbled, shaking still as Tilian pulled out, his cum spilling over Jon’s thighs and ass, further dirtying his sheets after all the sweat and his own wetness. “Fuck.”

“That’s,” Tilian swallowed, staring down blearily at Jon, soaking in as much of the other man’s appearance as he could, “yeah.”

Jon just nodded slowly, before Tilian knelt down and kissed him again, running his fingers over Jon’s curls. Tilian continued.

“Want a towel?”

“Fuck it.”

Tilian let out a soft laugh. “Really?”

“’Deal with it in the morn’,” Jon mumbled, pulling Tilian close to his chest. Tilian laid himself down, wrapping his arms tightly around Jon. Jon nestled himself close to Tilian’s chest, exhaling. Tilian kissed the top of Jon’s head, before feeling himself drift into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I think a few months ago this kind of thing was more of a joke between friends, but now I have ended up taking it very seriously. C'est la vie.


End file.
